


summers in argentina

by kismetics



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Argentina, Drinking Mate, Fluff and Humor, Kinda, M/M, Miya Atsumu is a Tsundere, Oikawa is Very Much Argentinian, hes just like noo i wont kiss tooru fuck him, then BAM gets hard thinking abt tooru, they are boyfriends and in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25295311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kismetics/pseuds/kismetics
Summary: “You want some?” it's asked in a teasing, playful tone, and Oikawa wastes no time before grabbing the kettle filled with hot water from the table and pouring himself another mate, putting the metal straw against his lips once again and sucking without showing any indication about the fact that he's basically drinking hot leafy water, during summer, in Argentina, when it's forty degrees Celsius out.(“I'll have you know, Atsumu-kun,” Tooru had said that one time during his second or third visit, during winter. “That mate, and more specifically yerba, has some really good influences on the body. I would know, believe me,” and he said it with that one tone of voice a veteran uses when talking about the fucking war.)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 90





	summers in argentina

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in like two hours while crying because oikawa and argentina are my two weaknesses ENJOY!¡!¡!¡!¡¡!¡!¡

While the winter in Argentina can be classified as one of the coldest winters he's ever experienced —not that he's traveled to many countries—, Atsumu definitely prefers the sharp winds and freezing temperatures over the suffocating heat of summer. Tooru had said that he would get used to it, and had even _laughed_ at him when he spent an entire night awake because of it, but not suffering because of it seems like a far-away thought. For him at least, he's sure the mad lad he has for boyfriend has developed an inhumane resistance to heat after years of living there. And even now...

His nose wrinkles in disgust as he chugs down half of the cold water bottle in his hand before speaking, looking straight at his boyfriend.

“You _disgust_ me,” he says, narrowed eyes and all. Tooru is sweating, of course, but he doesn't look the least bit bothered by the fact that they could turn the AC on, and instead of doing _that_ they have an old fan whirring on top of them and doing the bare minimum to keep Atsumu from dying because of the heat.

Tooru, bless him, looks up from his phone with one eyebrow raised, the cutest of sounds leaving him as he questions the sanity of the younger man. Atsumu points at the _mate_ he's holding with one hand, and Tooru sucks on the metal straw until no water is left before putting it down, along with his phone, to speak, and Atsumu pointedly glares at the small thing as if it was the one at fault for the sweltering summer heat when his boyfriend opens his mouth, if anything to avoid looking at those pink and tentative lips. _God_ , Atsumu is a handsome fella himself, but Tooru is just _too pretty to look at_ sometimes.

“You want some?” it's asked in a teasing, playful tone, and Oikawa wastes no time before grabbing the kettle filled with hot water from the table and pouring himself another _mate_ , not even adding sugar. Dear God, Atsumu can even _see_ see the steam rising from that thing. “It's good baby, I promise,” Tooru coos, but he's not giving up. Never, not even if the word makes his insides melt. This feels like a battle somehow and he's not about to lose against his monster boyfriend.

“ _No_ ,” he says severely, and Tooru only shrugs, putting the metal straw against his lips once again and sucking without showing any indication about the fact that he's basically drinking _hot leafy water_ , during _summer_ , in _Argentina_ , when it's forty degrees Celsius out. “Last time I burned my tongue, and you don't even add sugar. Not even a little bit! Disgusting,” he points out, remembering that one time with bitterness. They hadn't even been alone, they had been with all the members of the UPCN Vóley, and they reminded him of it every time they saw him for weeks after that.

Even now, sometimes Polstinki or Rivera come by and make sure to reminisce about that one time. And they look at him like two parents watching a video of their toddler running straight into a wall or something. Not fun.

Why is his boyfriend the _baby_ of the team, again? There are younger players than him there. Isn't one of them seventeen? Is he just babied because he's a foreigner?

“Not my fault you have a cat tongue, and also, _mate_ is supposed to be bitter. Martín told me that enough times,” Tooru complains with a soft whine, jutting his lower lip out in a pout when he remembers one of his teammates. Atsumu tries, really tries, to resist, but in the end he ends up leaning over the table, and the kettle and the small wooden thing containing the sugar and the yerba _—azucarera and yerbera_? Something like that— and the _mate_ , to wipe that pout off of Tooru's face with a kiss.

When they break apart, he blinks to refocus his gaze before setting down on his wooden chair again. Oikawa raises one perfectly styled eyebrow again, but doesn't question him much —Miya is reminded that he has to ask his boyfriend to help him do his own eyebrows sometime again— and he takes some time to cool down his mouth —kissing Tooru was like kissing a volcano, Jesus Christ— before talking again.

“I'm sorry, _who_?” he coughs out, fanning his face with his hand. Tooru rolls his eyes.

“ _Tejeda-kun_ ,” he clarifies, staring down at Atsumu while sucking on his blue straw, and he's never felt as disgusted, turned on and offended as he does right now, being gazed at like one would a dumb fucking idiot. Weird, he declares. Tooru has a weird effect on him, and he definitely shouldn't feel all hot and bothered —well, _he should_ , it's summer, but he doesn't mean it in that sense— because of a man who has his hair all tied up with stupid pink hair ties, a tank top with the Argentinian flag — _what?_ — and a pair of shorts, and also is drinking _hot leafy water_.

(“I'll have you know, Atsumu _-kun_ ,” Tooru had said that one time during his second or third visit, during winter. “That _mate_ , and more specifically _yerba_ , has some really good influences on the body. I would know, believe me,” and he said it with that one tone of voice a veteran uses when talking about the fucking war.) The fleeting thought of Oikawa getting lectured on _mate_ and how it's supposed to be drank just the way he is getting lectured like, every day now, makes a warm emotion ignite inside his chest and expand through his limbs.

On all accords, Atsumu should be bothered by the feeling, given that he's already close to overheating, but he finds that he doesn't actually mind it that much. Tooru really loves this country, and it's shown in subtle —his insistence to get Atsumu to enjoy things like _mate_ and that weird alcoholic drink that makes him want to puke his brains out, for example— but also very crude ways —his stupid Argentinian tank top, for example, or his God-damned knowledge of Argentinian history that has him rambling on and on about military and festivities during their calls—, and it's unexpected in all the correct ways.

He knows that this place, right here, is _home_ for Tooru, and even if seeing each other face to face means having to travel around the world, he wouldn't want him anywhere else. Tooru was born in Japan, but he was destined to fly all the way over to Argentina ever since he first set a volleyball.

Ah, he's staring. Tooru is staring back, that dark gaze that usually would have been obscured by his bangs, but now finds itself exposed to the light, glistening. Atsumu thinks of a quick answer, closing his eyes with a sigh so he doesn't have to look into those predatory eyes.

“I forget these guys are on first name basis with everyone,” it's not exactly the truth, but it's also not exactly a lie. It doesn't affect him to be called _'Atsumu'_ , but it did surprise him the first few times strangers called Oikawa _'Tooru'_. That's how they ended up on first name basis in the first place; Tooru just straight up told him to stop calling him Oikawa if he didn't want to get laughed at by the team when they met.

He still got clowned. A little bit. Mostly because it was hard to understand them when they spoke —so fast, so he now understands what people mean when they say that Japanese is hard for foreigners because most of the time, they just talk really quick and it's hard to catch up—, then the _mate_ situation, and when he stuttered after calling Oikawa _'Tooru'_ for the first time. But the guys in the team are actually very nice, and he finds that getting dragged to clubs during weekdays isn't actually as bad of an experience as he always thought it would be. It could be for a number of reasons, like ' _people in Argentina are objectively wilder than people in Japan_ ' or ' _I was so drunk that I puked three times_ ', but he thinks that the main one actually is the way the soft, barely-there purple lighting of the club fit Tooru very well at the time. He's sure that if he were to shine any color on Tooru it would look amazing, anyways. Tooru is just effortlessly handsome like that.

“Remember when you—” he already knows what Tooru is about to say before the words are out of his mouth, and it would be something cute and cheesy and very couple-like to be able to tell what his sentence is going to be, if it wasn't for the fact that he knows it because of the shit-eating grin taking over the other's face, and the way both of his eyebrows are scrunched up in a mocking attempt to not let his poorly contained laughter show.

“Yes, Tooru, I remember,” Atsumu cuts him off bitterly, taking another swig of water. Tooru cackles in front of him, finally setting the _mate_ down and pushing it, along with the kettle and the _azucarera_ and _yerbera_ , to the side. Miya just observes him for a few seconds before he realizes what that means. “ _You already drank the whole thing?_ ” he screeches, pointing at the supposedly empty kettle. His suspicions get confirmed when Tooru just blinks slowly in his direction before shrugging and nodding.

“It wasn't that much water, 'Tsumu,” he says, but Atsumu just stares, horrified.

“The kettle was like, more than half-full,” Tooru just shrugs again.

“Not that much, I've drank four times the amount,” he says, as if it's nothing, and Atsumu is close to banging his head against the table.

“Don't you get tired of it?” _how_.

“It's literally hot water. You said it yourself a couple times, hot leafy water,” now he's being stared at like he's dumb, Goddammit, he huffs in annoyance. He would cross his arms over his chest to prove a point but it's too hot to do that. “Now, come give me a kiss,” Tooru leans forward, lips puckered and eyes closed as he awaits for said kiss.

 _Ha,_ Atsumu wants to laugh in his face. _As if_ he would ever kiss him— well, maybe under the right circumstances, like a morning kiss or a goodnight kiss or a goodbye kiss or a— you get the point.

“No,” he denies sternly, although his reason for it is childish at best. Osamu would actually slap him in the back of his head, but 'Samu isn't there to play the role of the responsible sibling, _so_.

“What? Why?” Tooru, for once, actually looks put off as he opens one eye, staring at his boyfriend up and down. Atsumu frowns, rolling his eyes.

“You taste bitter after drinking _mate_ , and your mouth is hot too,” he explains, leaning more against the back of his chair, looking up to feel the cool breeze of the fan above them. He should fix his undercut sometime soon. Maybe his boyfriend would agree to shave it for him _and_ do his eyebrows.

“Thanks, I know it is. Kiss me,” Tooru leans forward, over the table, closing both eyes again but no longer puckering his lips. He's petulant, insistent, and he's sure that he's kicking him under the table. Still, he doesn't bulge.

“I didn't mean it that way, dumbass!” he feels strangely like Kageyama, saying that, and he suppresses a shiver. _Gross_ and uncalled for, brain, never compare him to Tobio again, please, at least not in the presence of Tooru. God knows what happened last time he much as _named_ the younger setter.

Tooru can actually be wild and not the loving mess of sweet praises and careful and thoughtfully timed thrusts, sometimes. It's the kind of knowledge he'll treasure forever, deep inside his mind —and body—.

“ _No seas trolo,_ ” the older cackles, but also sounds kind of annoyed now. Atsumu's eyebrows go up to his hairline; his Spanish might be good enough, but he still lacks the knowledge of slang only someone living in a country for long would have. He frowns, annoyed too now.

“Just _what_ does that mean, exactly?” Atsumu growls, narrowing his eyes at his boyfriend, who just sighs —a drawn-out, heavy, tired and dramatic sigh— before standing up and walking all five steps it takes to round the table to stand in front of the fake blond, who just stares up, unimpressed.

“It means what it means. Stop being childish,” before he can even manage some kind of witty retort, Tooru grabs his face —not even his chin, no, he just grabs him strong enough that his lips pucker and he struggled to not squeak in surprise— and pulls him up, closing the distance halfway to kiss him, hard, passionate, violent. His tongue leaves his own mouth to press against Atsumu's lips, forcing them open, and he closes his own eyes, gasping softly against Tooru's mouth as he quickly gets taken over.

One of his hands shoots out to press against the table, trying to regain balance with the somewhat awkward position he's left in. Tooru's arm sneaks around his waist, pulling him close and almost making him double over with the way he's still leaning down; not that Atsumu would actually mind, he's done some weird kinds of postures when setting before. His other hand is still holding Miya's face, but it's a somewhat softer grasp now.

Atsumu finds himself tangling the fingers of his free hand on Tooru's hair, caressing his scalp then pulling and then pushing him closer then repeating it all, and Oikawa does that little thing where he sighs through his nose and sing-songs some short stupid tune from the back of his throat, but Atsumu can't really be annoyed with the way there's a knee sneaking in between his legs to put pressure on his steadily growing erection —which he _will_ blame on the heat and not his boyfriend, without caring if it makes any sense or not— then Tooru breaks apart and the moment is ruined by the stupid grin on his face, and Atsumu prepares his deadpan face in anticipation for what he knows for sure will be some stupid comment.

“Wanna have sex?” and he probably intended it to come out flirty or something, but all he can see is some dumbass with pink hair ties and a too-warm mouth and dark cheeks. Miya narrows both of his eyes, mouth set in a tight line.

“No.”

“Why not?” Tooru squeaks, rising to his full height —only one centimeter taller than Atsumu, who's still being forced to bend his body backwards if he wants to get a good look at his boyfriend while talking—, attempting to use puppy-dog eyes even though they don't really work with him because it just makes his eyes jump out in an… Interesting way. Miya raises both of his eyebrows, something he notices he has been doing often, before setting his deadpan back in place again.

“'s too hot.”

“You're _hard_.”

“Yes, and you're disgusting. Go away and wash the _mate_ out of your mouth.”

Tooru snorts, but ends up pulling away, and Atsumu can finally breathe in peace.

In the end, the AC gets turned on, and he can relax while cuddling his boyfriend on the sofa, listening to the somewhat relaxing sound of the city life while trying —and failing— to ignore the tan hand creeping up on his thigh.

**Author's Note:**

> idk abt atsumu so i hope i did his character some justice lol


End file.
